


nystagmus

by imaginedecember



Series: those new york and new jersey days [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-28
Updated: 2015-02-28
Packaged: 2018-03-15 16:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3454139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginedecember/pseuds/imaginedecember
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael was fight.</p><p>And, well, Ray was flight.</p><p>So, then, who won?</p>
            </blockquote>





	nystagmus

**Author's Note:**

> **Direct sequel to:** the forty-second night (I just want to say hello again). 
> 
>  
> 
> **You do not have to read the prequel for this to make sense**
> 
>  
> 
>  **Explanation of rating** : Mature because of sexual imagery and flashbacks to previous sexual events in the prequel. None of the kinks in the prequel are mentioned here. 
> 
> **Special Thanks** : Thank you to everyone who read, commented and bookmaked the prequel. I appreciate all of the support. My dedication especially goes to RikuMurasaki for bringing up the idea of a sequel. I love all of you dearly <3.

When Michael touched down in Austin, Geoff was watching him like a hawk. Michael felt like he should’ve put his hands up and approached slowly, preferably with a bullet proof vest. 

Geoff had his arms crossed tight across his chest and his normally sleepy eyes had something hardened inside them. Something that couldn’t just be spit out. Something that needed to be dug out. And Michael was exhausted already. He didn’t wanna loose Geoff too.

“Gonna drop the tough act, Michael?”

“Gonna stop acting like my goddamn girlfriend, Geoff?” 

Michael barreled past any remarks from Geoff and calmly shouldered past him to the doors of the airport. Geoff caught his hoodie sleeve, though, tugging him in and holding him like a prisoner. For once, Michael was sick of fighting. And Geoff was damn good at rubbing out all the bad and getting him to drop his act.

The only other person who was good at that was the kid he left behind in New York.

Michael had spent most of the plane ride trying to forget his name. But it was ingrained in his head. Fuck, it was already a scar on his heart. Something he’d have to carry around, hot and heavy. It was already weighing him down, rubbing him raw. 

Geoff watched him falter, watched his shoulders sag at the tension. His eyes stayed narrowed and hard but their gaze had lost their hot spark luster. 

Geoff wasn’t prepared for the words. 

Neither was Michael.

“Fuck, I miss him.”

Michael didn’t get mushy. He didn’t miss things. Sure, he had a soft spot for his parents and long time friends and it certainly wasn’t easy just picking up and leaving New Jersey. 

But Ray. 

God, he wasn’t sure what he was missing but there was a piece there. Jagged. It stuck in deep. And no matter what, Michael couldn’t pry it it out. 

Geoff watched as his eyes turned into those of a writer’s, an artist’s. Despair turned into twenty four-seven work. 

Geoff didn’t want Michael’s new rage quit. It’d be far too scathing. 

“You and Ray, huh?”

Because Geoff was childish, he puffed out his cheeks. Michael swatted at him, that look in his eyes broken long enough for the despair to settle. A few minutes of clarity. Michael snapped out of it faster than Geoff had ever seen. Kid was a firecracker. He wondered how it came to be that Ray was the only one who could catch him (but not keep him). 

“Not anymore.”

The way Michael said it made it seem like it was final. 

But Geoff saw it as just the beginning. 

***

Memories were a sticky thing. They were made up of parts. And some of them were missing. They got lost somewhere in the countless number of shots that Michael slammed down like it was his goddamn career. Alcohol was good at bringing out emotions but Michael didn’t expect the tears. 

He wasn’t at a bar.

He was at his box filled apartment. The only box he had opened with his keys was the one with the glasses. And how pathetic was he that he took out the shot glasses first and dug around for the bottle of alcohol rather than something practical or tangible.

Alcohol was calories, right? So, he didn’t need to eat. Just slam it down his throat and forget. But the tears were coming on faster than he could control. He was slipping his belt through the buckle. His hands hovered in front of him and caught on to strands of raven hair. His mind was swimming something fierce but the ghost of his dreams was right there in front of him, foggy and dreamlike. 

He heard his voice loud and clear calling his name like a siren.

But, really, it was just Geoff. 

He got a key made somewhere along the way. Too much like a worrier. He had stopped over at just the right time. 

Michael was hell bent on becoming an alcoholic. 

He was hell bent on blacking out twenty four seven. Pass out and run. No more fighting.

Damn, when did he and Ray switch roles?

Fuck, his name. The way it stuck, made him all sweet and melty like. Hot silk running through his veins. It felt lush going down and even better mixed with whatever Ray gave off in waves.

He missed him.

Fuck, he missed him. 

And Geoff was dragging him somewhere. He had the phone cradled tight in between neck and shoulder. 

He was saying Ray’s name into the speaker, screaming it over whatever Ray was trying to say. He wondered if Geoff saw him like he did. An angel here on Earth. Who knew that the fall wasn’t so bad?

Who knew that the damage had already been done?

Geoff’s voice slipped away, caught somewhere in the foggy recesses of his mind, buried deep right between the alcohol and memories of Ray.

***

After that forty-second night, Michael got a tattoo.

42.

Right on his wrist. 

It was cold in New York and New Jersey. It was easy to get away with it. But Ray had a seeker for things that involved Michael. There was no use in hiding it. Ray had simply rose an eyebrow at him before setting down his controller (how sweet that Ray had given up his achievement grinding for him), picked up his wrist and pressed his lips to the numbers. Sealed with a kiss.

Michael still felt the burn ingrained into the ink. 

And when he woke up from that night of heavy drinking and sorrows, he dug his nails into the skin and scratched.

Geoff grabbed his wrist just in time. He was good with timing, apparently. 

But there was another hand there, another voice.

“He awake?”

“Yeah, fucking idiot piece of shit nearly gave me a heart attack.”

“Yeah.”

He expected the second man to laugh out the words, to chop up the syllables and vowels with something that Michael loved to hear. 

But he was angry. 

And Michael heard that loud and clear.

“Look, Ray-.”

“My desk is all ready, right?”

“Yeah, but-.”

“Cool, I’m gonna head over to the office and start up a guide.”

And Ray was gone. 

He was good at blending in, at being a shadow. 

But Michael was screaming his name, trying to make him visible again.

The sound of the door slamming made it sound almost like music.

“Michael!”

Geoff was screaming too, trying to hold him down, trying to keep him from running after the one thing that he had stupidly let slip away. 

But the number forty two didn’t have a meaning anymore.

No matter how much Michael wished it would.

***

After that, Michael took a few days off to recover. Geoff was adamant about that. 

It allowed for a separation between the two men, letting them get their heads screwed on straight. 

Ray was quiet. He had his hood up and his hands were clutched tight on his controller. Stuck on like glue. Geoff wheeled his chair over to him, occasionally speaking to him over the sound of video games pouring into the younger male’s ears. Sometimes, Ray murmured. On good days, he spoke back. On bad days, he snapped. 

It took a bit to get Ray talking. He knew Michael was a shut in. But there was still something left of Ray. Something that still made him charge on, despite the loss of his heart. First loves. They were always the hardest to get over, right?

He was playing Tetris. A forever kind of comfort. He was riding high and Geoff hated to bring him down. But there wasn’t any other better time. 

“Tell me.”

It was a demand.

Ray slipped his headphones off and threw them on to the desk. He stared at the falling blocks like they would provide him with an answer. 

“Simple. He wanted someone else.”

Geoff rose an eyebrow in confusion, leaning over his knees to reach Ray’s hand. It shook in his hold. 

“But he misses you.”

“Not enough apparently.”

Ray ripped his hand away, stood up and walked out the door.

He was always good at headshots but for once, he had missed his mark.

***

One can dress their wounds but never get rid of the scars.

***

The week away was supposed to be spent recovering. 

But Michael was fighting the shaky parts of his memory, trying to put them together. Nothing came together except that night. 

He was sick of fighting. 

So, he leaned back and let the memory assault him. Ray was always warm. He loved sleeping next to him whenever he went up to New York and stayed the night. He loved the shock of cool sheets and hot skin. It worked even better that Ray slept on his back and he curled up on his side. Kind of made to be together. Kind of screwed. Kind of dreaming. Kind of lying.

Michael was stupid but he couldn’t stop the truth. 

His hips shifted a bit as he remembered the fire that spun from Ray’s fingertips. He had an obsession with his fingers. Still fucking did. God, he’d spend hours, leaking and hard, if it meant having those fingers tapping combinations into his skin, etching something sweet and hot into the cells. 

He spread his hands on his thighs, itching at the seems, straining to tear them apart. His eyes spun as his mind tumbled straight into Hell. 

He fought hard against the dreams, the images, the past.

But they had a tight hold on him. 

One that would always leaving him fucking reeling. 

***

That one week in Austin was spent as far apart as possible. 

Ray played Tetris, grinded out achievements, started streaming and forgot all about his responsibilities and the man he called home. 

But nights were spent wishing. 

He allowed his eyes to drift to the mirror in the bathroom. He let his hands drift to his cock, hard enough already at just a whisper of the older male’s name. 

He let his mind conjure up that reel of tape where Michael whimpered a choppy mix of his name and a moan into his neck and his ear. He let his tongue lay heavy in his mouth like cotton, wishing Michael was there to suck out all the balled up words that were almost always too hard to say. 

He’d tell Michael that he loved him. 

And he’d spin the ending just right. Tell Michael not to go. Be selfish for once. Tell him how bad he fell for him. Fuck, straight through the morrow and the veins and cells. 

Michael always liked explosions and setting things on fire. Ray was stupid enough to be caught in the crossfire.

Honestly, did he give a shit? Because, damn, he had Michael. Was that enough for him to get through these next few years, sitting next to him and talking to him like best friends would?

Could he school a smile, put on the jester hat and dance around for him? How sad was he?

Because for Michael, he’d do all that and more.

***

It was more than tense seeing Ray after the week away. 

Michael was stupid enough to forget that Ray liked to get to work early. He tried not to remember the early mornings spent together. He tried to forget how well Ray worked into his routine. He tried to forget how empty it felt now and how the sun blinded him and how coffee didn’t taste as sweet and how looking at his reflection was getting harder and harder to deal with.

Ray had a look about him as he clutched his can of redbull. 

Michael caught his gaze quick enough to where they stood stock still in front of the door to the Achievement Hunter office.

“We cool?”

It was the only thing Ray could say.

No matter how much he wanted to start over, he knew that Michael was carrying two weights in his heart. 

“I…”

Michael couldn’t find the words.

And Ray was grabbing his wrist. And his touch was too warm. Too electrifying. 

For once, Ray was holding the rocket launcher. 

And Michael had his sights locked. 

But who was on the other side?

“I’m getting in the way, right?” Ray said it so sorrowfully, so bitter that it made harder and harder to let go. “If it doesn’t work with him….”

Ray trailed off as if just realizing how pathetic he was for wishing that he’d always stand as second choice, as second best. 

Michael gathered enough strength to step that last inch closer. Ray’s breath hitched as he whispered low enough for him to hear the last block falling into place.

“Always.”

The repeat of a promise. 

Their movements were shaky as Ray turned to the office and Michael moved towards the kitchen. They paused in time, sharing one last look. 

Because they had tried. They had fallen. But Michael had a life in Austin. New people, new places. Ray was just something old. And Ray saw it in the man’s eyes, how he looked at Michael like a treasure, how well he’d treat him.

Michael was a rocket. He could catch him. But he wasn’t meant to keep him.

Ray could never compete with someone who loved Michael more than he ever could. They were a forever kind of thing. 

Ray was just a tack on the board.

He was fine with being just a friend. Because Michael wasn’t completely gone. He’d just have to live with that. 

The two of them shared one last, fond smile before they turned away.

They had known the ending far before they knew the beginning.

And, really, neither of them could have ever questioned it.

**Author's Note:**

> I did not give the second guy a name because I did not want to deter people. So, leave it up to your imagination.


End file.
